ZYGRADON

by Michelle L. Levigne

  "Rings?" Athrar held out his hand, displaying the silver heir's ring with the Warhawk engraved on the flat top.

  "And cloak pins. Belt buckles. Necklaces," Mrillis said. "Hair clips. Wristguards, for archers. Imagine a Rey'kil archer using star-metal to make his arrows fly faster and straighter."

  "Could you make a sword out of it?" the boy asked.

  "Hmm. Maybe someday." Ceera paused and raised her gaze from the list. "It would take an enormous amount of metal, and we just don't find that much star-metal in one place. A piece as big as my fist is strong enough to poison several leagues of land on Moerta. Do you understand?" She lifted her gaze from meeting the boys' eyes and looked at Mrillis.

  I dreamed once that you gave me a sword made of stars, he thought to her.

  Someday, perhaps. I haven't even figured out if I can work tiny bits of star-metal. Let's do this slowly, shall we? Despite her cautious tone, Ceera's eyes sparkled with anticipation.

  It struck him that being the acknowledged heir to the Queen of Snows, learning her future duties and authority, didn't satisfy Ceera's hunger for challenges any more than traveling back and forth to Wynystrys had satisfied him. Mrillis vowed he would give his life to protect her, if this challenge proved to be too much.

  * * * *

  Making sure Athrar was safely settled with tutors and boys his own age for companions, while Mrillis and Ceera pursued their experiment, was the easiest part of the whole venture. The boy pouted only a little, when he learned he couldn't accompany his teachers, or even listen to the discussion of the leaders of the Rey'kil. He seemed satisfied when Ceera promised she would tell him everything, and let him see the very first thing she made of star-metal--if it was at all possible. Mrillis wondered if the young heir to the Noveni throne really was satisfied with the promise, or if Athrar had plans to spy and overhear and somehow get himself included, just as Mrillis and Ceera had done when they were his age. Looking back, Mrillis shuddered at the worries he had inflicted on his guardians and silently apologized to them all.

  As Mrillis feared, when the leaders of the Rey'kil heard what Ceera proposed to do, they had only one objection.

  "You are Le'esha's heir." Master Prothis finally put into words what two dozen scholars and enchanters from the Stronghold and Wynystrys had circled for nearly an hour.

  Really? Ceera thought to Mrillis. I never noticed. She kept her face calm, not even a sparkle of her usual mischief in her eyes. Through the tension in the air between them, Mrillis knew how much she wanted to let rip a sarcastic, disrespectful answer.

  "Years of training have been invested in you. Training, yes, that makes you the most logical one to attempt this project," the scholar continued. "But do we, do you, have the right to risk all that? What if we are wrong? What if treating star-metal like ordinary metal causes some dangerous reaction?"

  "What if it evaporates you and half the Stronghold? I think that's what Prothis means," Ayleron said.

  "I don't intend to come closer than a quarter of a league to any star-metal until it's been worked," Ceera said. "I intend to manipulate it like you would any raw ore, heating and purifying and hammering it, until it's been... tamed. And all from a very safe distance, using the Threads as my hands and my tools. In the prescribed method, as I was taught by my masters. This is the purpose for which Graddon had me trained by the best artisans among us."

  "If it vaporizes, we will simply have more energy released into the Threads," Mrillis said, taking up the explanation. He sensed how hard it was for her to keep a serene expression and calm voice. Why was it, as they grew older, the authorities over them seemed to treat them more like children, rather than less?

  "Hmmph, yes," Tetherys said, "but that's star-metal we can ill afford to lose from the vales. Why not take your experiments to Moerta where they have more star-metal than they could ever want?"

  "We intend to," Le'esha said, standing and effectively drawing all attention off her two protégés. "Once we are certain it can even be done, Ceera will then go to Moerta. I'm sure the Noveni will be delighted to have her remove star-metal from their land. And, since no one is living on that land, it won't matter if some of her experiments grow rather... violent." A tiny sparkle in her eyes, a tiny twitch of her lips, were all the indication that she was anything but calm and confident in the entire proposal.

  Mrillis knew better. The Queen of Snows had questioned him and Ceera for hours after they had come to her with the idea spawned by Athrar's innocent question. She had been reluctant. Her love for them made her cautious, made her battle with the utter necessity of what they proposed. Her position as their mother meant more than any lesser considerations, such as Ceera's long years of training as her heir and the effort of replacing her if anything should go wrong. Le'esha had spent hours theorizing with them, then more hours contacting the Rey'kil settlers on Moerta through the Threads. She looked directly into their memories, to study the reactions of the star-metal when different methods of attack were used on it.

  Then, when she was convinced, she added her voice to theirs when they approached High Scholar Breylon. It took just as long for Breylon to argue with them and study the facts and possibilities. He stood solidly with Le'esha when she presented the proposal to the gathered scholars and enchanters.

  If the Queen of Snows and the High Scholar were convinced it was not only possible, but logical and necessary to treat star-metal as metal and turn it into something useful, Mrillis wondered why anyone doubted.

  In the end, after two days of debate and objections and alternate proposals, the gathered leaders of the Rey'kil agreed to the experiment. It took another full day to decide which vale on Lygroes would serve Ceera's purposes.

  * * * *

  "What we need to do," Ceera said, as they rode to the Vale of Phoedellas, "is to isolate the star-metal from the Threads so it can't regain its power. We'll drain the power remaining in it, reducing it to simple metal. Then, when I've finished working it, we release it back into contact with the Threads."

  "Oh, yes, of course. Simple." Mrillis didn't look at her, but he heard her sigh. He knew the way she rolled her eyes in exasperation, the tilt of her head as she stared at him. He also knew she debated with herself whether to laugh or be disgusted by his sarcasm.

  Despite all his confident words, now that he and Ceera took the first steps in her proposed plan to tame and use star-metal, Mrillis was terrified.

  For Ceera.

  He wasn't worried about himself. He feared for her, in close contact with the star-metal. She would be the one who would suffer, who might have all her magic burned out of her or go mad, or even die, if something went wrong.

  If she died, he would die with her. Mrillis knew he would lay down his life, sacrifice his imbrose, mind and body, to protect Ceera. But would it be enough? What if everything he put between her and destruction wasn't enough? Would he know he had failed, before he was burned from existence? Would he know that she would die with him?

  Somehow, it wasn't much comfort to imagine being joined to Ceera in death.

  The two rode alone. They didn't need anyone else physically present to help with this first step. A dozen masters and enchanters with the finest control and deepest strength would stand watch, in contact with the Threads, to offer advice and their support. They would witness the attempt so that if something went wrong, the mistakes could be avoided in the future. Mrillis and Ceera, however, had determined that they needed to be within the vale's boundaries to be sure of their control over the star-metal.

  If need be, they would weave a cage of Threads around the vale to control the outburst of power if something went wrong. The power would circulate back in on itself, rather than flooding out along the Threads and scorching the landscape outside the vale.

  The once-peaceful landscape inside the valley, and those who wove and held closed the cage...no one could be sure of their fate.

  "Do you remember when Baenrax built that stone walkway across the river in the southern
canyon? Where the best raspberries grow?" Ceera said after nearly ten minutes of riding in silence.

  The thickening forest felt and sounded quieter, the closer they rode to the valley that had become the Vale of Phoedellas, as if all the trees and birds and other creatures knew what would happen soon.

  Mrillis finally let himself look at her. A smile still curved the corners of her mouth. Good; she had decided to be amused by his sarcasm. That said good things about her spirits.

  "I remember he built a dam so he could dig down to the bedrock under the sand and pebbles of the riverbed." He nodded, freezing in mid-nod as understanding cut through his thoughts. "And when the water started to overflow, some of the other guardsmen dug channels, to take the water back to the river, but further down from the bridge. Yes."

  "Can you do it?"

  "It will be like convincing the power that the star-metal isn't there...like making it invisible. Convincing the power it doesn't want to go there." He grinned as ideas started to bounce through the mental image. "I can use the star-metal's own power to build the channels to drain the overflow away. Like a man helping the ones robbing him."

  "And Endor said you wouldn't be any help at all." Ceera shook her head and twisted her face into a sorrowful mask. "He wanted me to wait until he came home, so he could help me."

  "He did?" Mrillis sat up straighter in the saddle as something tightened in his gut and around his throat, and started to burn.

  "I laughed at him." She reached across the gap between their horses and grasped his wrist. "If you couldn't help me with this, then no one ever could."

  "Such confidence..." He swallowed down dozens of bitter words. "He didn't like that much, did he?"

  "I don't care what Endor likes or doesn't like." A frown touched her face for the first time since they set off that morning. "The longer he stays in Moerta, the happier I'll be."

  "Ceera?"

  "He wants me, and he won't listen when I tell him I'm not for the taking."

  "Of course you aren't!" Mrillis yanked on the reins of his horse without thinking, startling the animal. Sparkles of anger-spawned magic danced around the tips of his gloved fingers, making the leather glow blue and gold.

  "He's such a good friend, otherwise. I liked him so much when he was a boy--why did he have to become a man?" She blinked rapidly, so he wondered if she fought tears. Ceera shook her head and managed a crooked smile. "I really should thank you for not being a horrid, jealous, possessive cretin."

  "Ceera--" Words he wanted to say, words he hadn't even thought of saying, clogged on his tongue. Was it fear for her that made him want to speak, or jealousy?

  "I should thank you," she said with a decisive nod, "but I won't." She laughed; a sharp, breathless sound. Before he could decide what she had meant, she dug her heels into her mount's side and raced down the trail.

  Mrillis felt dizzy for a moment, but he knew better than to let her beat him, even in an undeclared race. He urged his horse to a gallop and flew down the trail toward Phoedellas.

  They were both windblown and gasping when they reached the faintly shimmering curtain in the air that marked the boundary of the valley. Rey'kil had settled on the heights overlooking the valley, taking it as their duty to keep the curtain intact, to warn away anyone who might be harmed by the power that collected there. Sparks danced along Ceera's hair and hissed against the metal parts of her horse's bridle as she rode through the curtain. Mrillis closed his eyes as he followed a few steps later. The tingles held a refreshing chill, in contrast to the springtime warmth and greenery inside the vale, while winter still reigned outside. He instantly felt more awake, the fatigue of their long ride wiped away.

  They stopped just inside the boundary. Mrillis unsaddled their horses and took the beasts out past the curtain. He loosely tied their lead ropes to a stake pounded into the hillside. If disaster hit, he wanted the horses able to flee to save their lives. He next touched the thoughts of the Rey'kil living around the vale's boundaries, to let them know the experiment was about to begin. When he stepped back through the curtain, Ceera had settled herself cross-legged on a blanket, her metalworking tools spread around her within easy reach. She began the mental and breathing exercises to prepare her for the long effort that lay ahead.

  In the center of the vale, in a low point that caused power to pool in this spot, lay the star-metal. All the Threads in this region radiated out from that point. No one was quite sure yet if the star-metal created the low point when it hit the ground, or if the landscape attracted it when it fell. Mrillis only cared that it was convenient. What amazed him every time he considered it was that this piece of star-metal was no bigger than his thumb.

  How much work would it take, how long would they have to search, to find enough metal to make the long, heavy sword of his vision? A king who could wield a sword made of star-metal would be a king to be reckoned with. Even the Nameless One would bow before him in terror and obedience.

  Could a Noveni king carry a sword of star-metal? Once the mineral was tamed and shaped, would it be safe for a Noveni to carry it? Or would that king need Rey'kil blood in his veins?

  Mrillis put that thought aside for later. He had this duty now to occupy all his attention. He felt Ceera's mind reaching out, strong and steady and solid, about to touch the star-metal. He reached with his mind and imbrose for the Threads. His inner vision showed them as thick as his arms, blue-white and pulsing with power coming directly from the star-metal. Mrillis knew how to touch the Threads now without scorching his mind.

  A few deft twists with his imbrose secured other Threads, coming into the vale from far distances. He wrapped them around his mental hands, to act as insulation against the flow of power. Then he grasped the Threads coming from the star-metal and wove them around, in and out, creating a basket cage. He planned the same for the curtain surrounding the vale if anything started to go wrong.

  Perfect, Ceera thought to him. The sensation of the brush of her hand against his cheek startled him, and she laughed silently. Mrillis, you are my dearest friend, but you are too proper sometimes.

  Proper--

  We have been together almost our whole lives. We will always be together. If we are wrong, if we have finally let our triumphs make us foolishly proud, there is no one I would rather die with than you.

  Don't die, Little Star. He struggled to tighten his grip on the Threads that writhed against his control, like snakes trying to break free. I'm going to make you continue this conversation when you've finished.

  She laughed and her presence faded, as if she moved away. Mrillis didn't dare open his eyes and risk losing even that much concentration. His body sensed her physically sitting at his feet, her body relaxed while her mind did battle.

  It's not so much tug-of-war, she reported a few breaths later. It's more like making twisting sweets.

  Mrillis nearly lost his concentration then. A few snorts of laughter escaped him. He had an image of Ceera holding the mass of glowing star-metal in her hands, pulling it in a long, sagging strand, lumping it together, kneading it like the soft, chewy candy made from finely ground nuts, pulped fruit and syrup. Making the sweets was often a distraction for restless children in the coldest months of winter.

  He turned all his attention back to the cage, to catch strands of power that tried to shoot off the larger Threads and weave them into his construct. He monitored the physical landscape through the Threads, to ensure no enemy crept up on them while they were occupied. He checked with the enchanters keeping watch at the boundaries of the vale, and those in the Stronghold and on Wynystrys who watched the experiment by touching the Threads, in case they saw something that eluded him. All was well. Perhaps a little too well?

  The stink of molten metal startled him. He opened his eyes without meaning to, and saw Ceera kneeling in front of the small portable anvil she used to make fine jewelry. If she had brought the star-metal physically to this place, using her imbrose, then she was satisfied her purifying work had emptie
d it of enough energy it would not burn her. They had talked of this step, but Mrillis had only half-believed they would get this far.

  Power shimmered in rainbow hues all around Ceera, enfolding her like a garment. He saw her raise her hammer and strike something hidden from his view. Blue sparks sprayed across the grass of the hillside and a chime like dented, sour, tuneless bells grated on his ears. The sound shivered through the ground.

  Ceera struck again and again. Mrillis blinked when sweat dripped from his forehead into his eyes, but he refused to look away. He watched the sweat of her efforts plaster her long, sleeveless tunic to her back. Her braids grew dark from perspiration.

  With each blow she struck, pounding the softened, near-molten star-metal, folding it back on itself multiple times to give it layers and strength, the chimes changed. They grew lighter, sweeter, in tune, and turned from a few shrieking bells into an entire chorus in multiple octaves.

  Ceera put down her hammer and snatched up the sharp-edged wedge she used for cutting metal. She struck multiple times, barely pausing between blows to set the wedge in place again. Each times she struck, a bell seemed to leave the chorus, as if each piece she cut from the worked star-metal had its own note. Then she took up the hammer again. Mrillis watched her movements, unable to see what her hands did. He willed all his strength into her, knowing that she had to be even more weary than he felt.

  Around them, the sun sank into the horizon with startling speed. Mrillis wondered if time changed when they were in such close proximity to star-metal. He flinched when Ceera dropped her tools and her shoulders slumped and her head bowed.

  Chapter Twenty

  Ceera? He couldn't get enough moisture in his mouth, enough breath in his lungs to speak for a moment.

  "It's done," she whispered. She sounded harsh, like the winter she had been so sick she lost her voice. "Release the Threads slowly, so I can feel the power flow back in."

  "We should put it back in the center--"